Really, Shea wasn't sure why he was so nervous about such minor magic. He'd done much more many times before, far more complicated variants with all manner of alternating variables to keep track of. And here he was, nervous about lighting a damn fire.
Maybe it was what Mei said about it being unnatural, against creation. Again, it wasn't like such accusations ever bothered him before, but for some inexplicable reason he found himself actually caring about what the girl thought of him. Which was just too weird, far too weird.
So caught up in the brewing storm that was his thoughts, he didn't even catch her comment about the mud, and rather continued to flick it off onto the floor. He came back to himself right around when she started chopping, the rhythmic cuts bringing him back to reality as only stable patterns could.
"It's all in understanding the elements present within one's own body. We're all made up of them, earth, fire, water, air; it's just a matter of favoring one over the others. Our breath is naturally hot, I just urged it a little hotter. Outside of my lungs, of course, you don't ever want to try breathing that back in. Your lungs will collapse in on themselves and you'll die."
As for where his magic came from... it was just too tempting. Shea simply couldn't resist, and he shot Mei a wicked grin.
"I'm actually possessed by the incredibly potent spirit of a long-dead sorcerer. Magic runs in the blood, and it's only after taking in his blood via a horrific body-swapping ritual that I'm capable of magic at all."
He let that sit still for a moment, before he burst into laughter, suddenly forced to stop in his kitchen duties to rest his head on the counter top while he had his little fit. He rubbed at his single eye to rid it of tears, gasping a bit for breath in between continued snorts.
"In all honesty... it really is in the blood. There's a natural sort of affinity present-- like being able to roll your tongue, it doesn't take much-- and then the careful application of years of study. Minor tricks are all well and good, and even a child can be capable of them if they're clever enough. But in order to understand it, in order to not, say, set an entire island on fire or freeze it solid, you need to study for... well, ages."
He reached over on instinct, plucked Mei's finger from her mouth and turned her hand over to inspect it. For half a moment, the cut seemed perfectly clean, all layers of pink skin. But then the moment passed, and crimson welled up into a thick droplet, and Shea was entranced by the color for perhaps far longer than he should have been. He pulled a bit of cloth from the pocket of his apron, and pressed it to her finger, holding it there and checking on the bleeding intermittently.
"But you'll always be long dead before you can even hope to scratch the surface of what there is to learn."